Prologue to a New Story
by Thobbit
Summary: The Apocalypse began without a hitch. Lilith was killed, Lucifer rose, the Winchester brothers accepted their fates and Castiel and Ruby were lauded and rewarded for their successful roles in bringing it all about. Yet neither one can shake the feeling that they don't deserve this, that something is wrong, that someone is horribly missing from what should be victory.


**Prologue to A New Story**

_A/N: I wish much of this was better than it is; I couldn't get most of it to be exactly how I imagined it should be. I'm sorry. I'm not writing more, either, so sorry about that, too. Reviews always delightfully welcome!_

* * *

It worked. The plan, her plan...it had _worked_. Every moment, months of moments, all striving towards here and now, where Lilith was dead in her white dress and her blood was running in a circle on the floor and Sam was looking worried like he did, the cutesy, asking why that was happening, and Ruby just laughed in sheer exaltation because she'd done it, she'dreally _done_ it. Light was shining through the bloody cracks in the floor now and it wasn't thanks to Azazel, Allister, or that bitch Lilith – no, she, Ruby, had brought the Devil back to life, and it was going to be _great_.

.

He felt it when his brother Rose. It was like a shiver running through his Grace, a sine wave of joy and dread and anger that shook the world down to its immoveable core. Even Dean, now reduced to pacing the small room and muttering angrily under his breath, whipped his head around to look at the angel standing guard.

"Cas?" he asked suspiciously. "What the hell just happened?"

Castiel was saved from answering by the return of Zachariah, smiling broadly. "It's the Apocalypse, Dean!" the elder angel announced proudly. He popped the cork out of a bottle of champagne. "Lucifer's out. Time to get this party started!"

.

Sam accepted his fate very quickly, once Lucifer talked to him a bit. Maybe removed a few organs for emphasis, Ruby didn't know. She wasn't called in to meet the new boss until a few days later.

"Hello, Ruby!" he called warmly as she walked into Hell's new throne room. The Devil was lounging idly on a designer couch, dressed all in white (a bright contrast to the smoky light of the hall), fingering a rose. He put it aside as she approached, and stood to greet her, taking her hand in his two familiar large ones. He seemed even taller, somehow. "Nice to meet you. I'm Lucifer."

She bowed her head. "It's...my pleasure, Lord."

His chuckle was rich like ultra-dark chocolate cake just out of the oven. "I suppose you're wondering why you weren't smoked by my rising presence, huh?" He rolled his shoulders, the motion smoother and silkier than it had been when Sam stretched. "I won't deny, it was a bit of effort, but I could tell straight away that Sammy was fond of you and hey, got to keep the vessel happy, right?" He patted his own shoulder affectionately, and Ruby put on what she hoped was a thankful smile. So Sam was still in there, somewhere. She'd wondered.

"I suppose I ought to thank you for looking after him this past year, too," Lucifer continued musingly. "How does a regiment or two sound? You can pick your command." He bent down to the hight of her own small meatsuit, smiling confidentially. "Any except Azazel's old close friends, that is," he said, offering like a great friendly confidence. "Meg already dibs'ed those."

She almost took a step back. "How about Lilith's old guard?" she suggested innocently.

Lucifer grinned in almost child-like delight, and ruffled her hair paternally. "Seeking a little revenge, Ruby?" He clapped his hands. "Done. Discipline them as you'd like, but be ready to march out in four days' time. My esteemed brother should be ready by then."

"Thank you, my lord," she replied huskily, new power thrilling through her adopted veins. "We'll kick their feathery asses."

.

Castiel was not present when Dean finally embraced his destiny. He heard about it immediately, of course, as Michael announced **_It is done_** to the entire Host. And he felt some small sense of accomplishment, as it had been his suggestion that they show Dean what Lucifer was already doing while they dallied – raising armies, spreading fire across the continents, loosing Croatoan on the cities of the world. He knew Dean would give himself a thousand times over rather than let his fellow humans suffer. And so the hunter had agreed, finally, to be Michael's Vessel, so that the world could be set right.

They met in Kansas, as had always been ordained. Castiel was not there, either – this was a confrontation for the two brothers, Michael and Lucifer alone. None else would interfere. Angels and demons might fight while the battle raged – it might take days, weeks, centuries even before one brother could defeat the other – but everyone knew that this was the fight that mattered.

Which was why Castiel was as surprised as everyone else when Michael returned to Heaven but two hours later, almost slouching, a disgruntled expression on his face that made Castiel wonder for just a millisecond if his eldest brother hadn't abandoned his Vessel. But that was foolish, because it was so clearly his brother, flaming bright with wrath.

Nobody knew what to say until Raphael stepped forward and asked, _Lucifer?_

Michael spat. _He did not come,_ he told the assembled Heavenly Host. _He prefers to hide behind his demons rather than follow even this part of our Father's Plan._

There were gasps. None of them came from Castiel. _Is it war then, brother? _he asked. He stood in the front ranks now; he had been promoted following his success with the Righteous Man.

Michael did not smile; he certainly did not smirk like Dean Winchester once might have. He merely looked slightly less grim for a moment as he lifted his blade and roared,**_ It is war!_**

The answering chorus shook the Heavens.

.

Lucifer was a fantastic military leader. Ruby guessed he'd been planning this for millennia, holed up in his Cage with nothing better to do than plot exactly how he was going to take his Father's world apart, piece by piece, and it was really freaking awesome to see how everything came together.

He had a map spread out on a massive wooden table, and when all the Lieutenants of Hell (as they were now called) were assembled, he stalked around it and pointed out exactly where each regiment would attack. The map was 4-D, and shifted as he pointed from Hell to Earth to Heaven itself. So intent was he, so obsessive, that Ruby could almost forget she was in Hell rather than some crappy motel with Sam going over his latest stupid plan to kill Lilith. They'd spent a lot of time on stupid plans, the two of them.

"So get this," said Lucifer, snapping his fingers so that the floating globe zoomed in on a particular town in Missouri. Ruby jumped out of her daydream, and almost out of her skin, but no one else took notice. She took a breath, just to calm her nerves. This job was even more high-stress than her last one.

"...and Michael hasn't even fortified it," the Devil was saying derisively. He gestured broadly around the table. "So while you all are providing a lovely distraction for my siblings, I will go raise Death."

"Should you go alone?" Meg piped up from the other end of the table.

Lucifer smiled affectionately at the demon. "You can come too, child, if you insist. Bring only the Hellhounds, though. Leave your people with Hastur."

She subsided obediently. "Yes, Father."

_Kiss-ass, _Ruby thought vengefully._ Of course, it's not like I would have let Sam go try something like raising Death without me there as backup. _She pushed away the obvious follow-up thought: this wasn't Sam.

.

Castiel was not fully invested in the battle before him. He wasn't supposed to be; he had to be aware of how his siblings were faring as well, make sure that any who faltered were supported or replaced in the line. But even that, a task which would once have commanded his whole attention, was being carried out somewhat on autopilot.

It was a reasonable state of mind, he told himself in a rare lull between waves of demons. He was stronger than he had once been, and more experienced. Fighting demons alongside his siblings should not have been difficult anyway; it was literally what he was made to do.

(It had not been like this last time, when they broke through the ranks of Hell to save the Righteous Man. Castiel had been on fire then, burning with fervor and intent, reveling in every step won. He had known the soul on sight, had known where to find it even before he strode past the First Level. Dean had been so damaged then, already torn and twisted; it had been a joy to watch him heal. Now the light of that soul was obscured by the burn of Michael's Grace, and Castiel couldn't even sense its presence.)

"You fought well, Castiel."

The seraph looked up and found his eldest brother standing next to him. He scrambled to his feet, standing stiffly to attention. "Thank you."

Michael's smile was both sterner and gentler than Dean's familiar smirk. "It is a compliment well earned. Rouse your units. We will resume the attack while our brother's troops are still recovering."

One thing Castiel was continuously aware of in battle, aware with the treacherously distant part of his being, was that, for all the differences in the way they held themselves off the field, Michael-in-Dean fought in exactly the same manner as Dean-in-Dean did. Had. His strength and speed were of course greater, and he could take flight where Dean could only run, but Castiel felt sure that, had Dean possessed wings, every move would have been the same. Every twist, duck, and lunge (as Castiel fought beside him, twisting and ducking and lunging himself) was familiar.

As they should have been, for Castiel had known his brother since time beyond record. He had barely even fought at Dean Winchester's side. And yet every time he saw his brother's vessel flash by, a small part of him flickered in joyous recognition, and then dimmed mournfully again when the Grace now encased in that vessel shone through.

He blamed the distraction of this internal flickering for his inability to notice the demon's blade until it was too late.

.

Ruby had gotten a knife upgrade and, despite herself, she was awfully pleased with it. It was silver or something akin to it, honed to sharpness on a molecular level and lighter than it should have been for its length. She'd picked it up from the hand of a dead angel.

Which were pretty rare in and of themselves, compared to the number of dead demons laying around. Lucifer's strategy was to spend his troops as cannon fodder, wearing Heaven's forces down until they were simply overrun. Angels might be born fighters, but Hell had been accumulating souls for millennia, and, despite propaganda claims, the Heavenly Host was not innumerable.

Ruby had survived pretty well thus far by following the simple strategy of not being one of the horde. She, personally, avoided the actual fighting at all cost. Lucifer didn't seem to care one way or another––he barely noticed her, in fact. He didn't seem to take much interest in any demon.

(She missed _Sam_, she whined to herself. He'd been an idiot, but even when he'd been completely jonesing for a hit, he'd never stopped appreciating that the blood came from her. Her, Ruby. For all that at least half of anything she'd ever said to him had been a lie, she'd never felt more herself than when she was with Sam, fighting and training and dear Go– Sa– damn it, she missed having _sex_.)

(Not that she wanted...not any more. Not at _all_. She missed Sam's body, his muscles, his lips, and his touch, but all that had really been Sam, Sammy Winchester, not just anyone who happened to be occupying his flesh.)

Now, though, she'd ended up in the main press of the fight, and _fuck_ it was bad. Hell, half the trouble was not getting trampled by her own people. They'd been doing fine, usual swarming tactics until the angels either fell or gave up and ran, while Ruby hanging back and directing the troops. Today, the angels had run...but not for long, and they'd come back with reinforcements before Ruby had her troops back in anything even resembling order. Michael himself was leading the charge, and Ruby figured she and all her people were almost certainly screwed. So all she was really doing was trying to get out of the fight, moving against the flow of demons – check that, increasingly with the flow, as more and more demons figured out what she'd known since the first returning wingbeat.

But she was stuck in the very center of the battle, where a couple hundred of the more loyal were still determined to shred any angel they could reach. Ruby struck out with her shiny new blade at anyone within reach, celestial or infernal – mostly infernal, and this angel-sword slashed them up just as well as her old knife had.

Until she came abruptly face to face with, well, really the first angel she'd seen since the Apocalypse started––besides Lucifer, obviously. As previously mentioned, she'd been doing her best to avoid the actual fighting, preferring survival over anything else. Actually meeting an angel in battle was a pretty sure way to guarantee the end to that track record.

This angel, though, didn't even look like he was paying attention to the raging melee. He was staring sideways, after a glimmer of flashing wings that even Ruby could tell were Michael's. It was only a split second's distraction, but it was enough time for her to lunge forward, the only opportunity she was going to get without suffering abrupt incineration, and take a stab at that dirty trench coat–

–The angel turned as she moved, and she recognized the wide blue eyes and the immense sense of loss and regret and resignation in them–

–and she made probably the single dumbest move of her life and dropped her point just enough to skewer him through the shoulder rather than the neck, and grabbed his shirtfront and, concentrating like hell on the only safe place she could think of, pulled them both through the One-Use-Only Get Out Of Jail Free slip Lucifer had given each of his Lieutenants, that she'd been saving for an emergency since this whole damn-blessed Apocalypse started.

.

Castiel sprang away from the demon, wings furling and unfurling as he regained his balance from the unexpected travel. His shoulder burned – she must have stolen that blade from one of his siblings' corpses––but he held his own sword steady as he eyed her warily. "What do you want, demon?"

"Hey, hey, calm down, all right?" the demon said, waving one of her hands in what might pass for a call for peace. But the other hands still held the stolen sword, and she was just as tense for battle as he. "Look, I could have killed you and I didn't, so you should hear me out, 'kay? There's no one else here, except maybe some humans. You can check."

He did, reaching out with his Grace for any signs of tricks or traps or betrayal – though 'betrayal' presupposed a trust which Castiel, for all his momentary weakness in the battle, certainly did not hold for this demon.

She did not appear to be lying, however, this one time. The room they now occupied was protected against everything but angels, it seemed, from salt and silver worked into the walls to a large demon trap etched into the floor. The demon was carefully standing outside of it. The house above them was familiar as well, its only occupant asleep.

"Why have we come to Bobby Singer's panic room?" Castiel asked guardedly.

"So no one interrupts," replied the demon. "My guys can't, and I'm sort of counting on your guys just not bothering. They should be distracted for at least a couple more minutes, anyway."

Finally, Castiel's mind caught fully up with the situation. More or less. "You are the one who seduced Sam Winchester."

"Yeah, Ruby," said the demon. "And you're Dean's angel, Castiel. We met at the Anna thing, sort of."

He had not seen Anna since the night before the start of the Apocalypse, but that minor rush of guilt was drowned out by a mysterious twang in his chest at being called 'Dean's angel.'

"I watched over Dean and guided him in his course."

Ruby smiled bitterly. "You mean you rode him into the ring like a show pony, yeah." It wasn't a smile so much as a frown with the corners turned up. "I know the feeling."

Castiel thought he should almost certainly smite this demon and leave. She may have wounded him once – his shoulder still burned – but he was far stronger still, and a fight could only end one way. He could be back in Heaven in a matter of seconds.

So...if he could leave at any time, perhaps it would do no harm to let this demon say her piece. Perhaps he would learn something of import. "What do you want?" he repeated.

Ruby threw her hands up in the air, pacing around the edge of the demon trap. "I don't even know, all right? I'm not even – you're an angel, you're _supposed_ to love people and crap. I'm just a demon. I'm supposed to hate and torture and not–" She stopped abruptly, scowling fiercely across the room. But there was something plaintive in her voice. "Do you miss him?"

She did not specify a being; Castiel thought immediately of Dean and then chided himself. "Who?"

She rolled her eyes. "Dean. I assume."

"I...regret, at times, that the coming of the End of Days requires Dean's temporary absence," he replied carefully, choosing his words and thinking of neither Dean's rare laughs nor the deep sadness and fear he had only let show when he thought nobody was watching. "But when Heaven is victorious, all souls will be restored, to live in forever joy and peace."

Ruby snorted. "That's great for 'all souls', but I bet Michael's not any more inclined to give up his meat–– his _vessel_ than Lucifer is."

"Don't be absurd," snapped Castiel.

"Why shouldn't I be absurd?" she asked heatedly. "This whole situation is absurd! We aren't even following some great Apocalyptic Plan anymore, because your brother didn't have the guts to bring it on, and now _I'm_ standing in a basement trying to convince an angel to show a little humanity!"

"What would you know of humanity," Castiel growled. "If not for your machinations, Sam would never have broken the final Seal."

"Don't I know it." She fired back, "And if you hadn't been riding Dean all year, the two of them would never have been fighting each other so hard in the first place."

"I had my orders!"

"So did I!"

"What the hell is going on here?"

Demon and angel both turned, drawn blades ready, toward the furious figure in the panic room's doorway. Bobby Singer looked more tired and pissed off than he ever had been in his life, not to mention, as his gun swung back and forth between the two supernatural beings, more desperate for a second shotgun.

His aim finally settled on Ruby, finger hovering just outside the trigger guard. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't blow yer damn head off."

"I can get you Sam back," she answered promptly.

"Liar," he growled, and emptied both barrels.

Castiel pulled her out of the way just in time, and raised his wings to shield all three of them from the bullets that ricocheted off the walls. They would heal more quickly than mortal flesh. "Wait. I believe she may be demonstrating true repentance."

Ruby grimaced, yanking her arm away from him. "Yeah 'repentance.'" She met Bobby's eyes square on. "Look, I feel bad about the whole 'killing Lilith' thing, okay? The Apocalypse sucks. And..." he eyes dropped to the ground. "I want him back too."

Bobby did not cease glaring. "Yeah, right. And you're next on my list, angel," he informed Castiel. "What the hell did you do to Dean?"

Castiel opened his mouth to answer, and then closed it again. He found himself startlingly unable to lie. "I betrayed his trust."

"Ha!" crowed Ruby. "I knew it. There's a heart in there after all."

He cleared his throat, turning from Bobby's accusing eyes to address the demon again. "If you truly wish to remove Lucifer from Sam Winchester, there are ways to do it without harming the vessel. You would no doubt be considered Saved for your aid in achieving Heaven's victory, and permitted to enter into Paradise."

"Not a chance," said Ruby, shaking her head vehemently. "Heaven's victory is bullcrap. I liked the planet how it _was_, halfway damned with salty french fries. That was _real_. Not some Stepford Wives 'Paradise.'"

Castiel flinched. It was so much like the speech Dean had given him that day in the greenroom, the speech he hadn't heeded, the last time he'd seen Dean Winchester burning with emotion and desperation and pain.

Father, he _missed_ him.

(His Father hadn't answered his prayers in a long, long time.)

"Both of you shut up," Bobby interjected, "and tell me what exactly has been going on for the past four months."

"The Apocalypse," said Ruby succinctly. "Dean is Michael's vessel, Sam is Lucifer's–"

"Yeah, I got that," countered Bobby. "But weren't they supposed to have one big fight? What's with all the demons and angels runnin' around and breaking everything?"

"How do you know about this?" asked Castiel, momentarily distracted from his newly discovered guilt.

Bobby waved his hand irritatedly. "You ain't exactly been subtle with your fights. It's on the news every other night. The rest I got from old religious documents and thinking it through." He nodded toward the devil's trap in the center of the room. "And questioning a demon or two."

For the first time, Castiel noticed the new bloodstains in the center of the trap.

"Right," said Ruby, edging slightly away. "Well, yeah, they were supposed to fight it out themselves, but Michael didn't show, so now we're all just doing it for them. The lazy asses."

"It is Lucifer who was too cowardly to attend to his fate," Castiel corrected her.

"I watched him leave and return," she responded hotly. "He was furious. Michael didn't have the balls for his own big battle."

"And I stood in Heaven as Michael went to the appointed place and time and waited for Lucifer," Castiel replied with just as much wrath. "You are wrong!"

"Are you telling me," Bobby asked before either could raise their swords again, "that they both showed up to tussle then decided _not_ to?"

There was a moment of silence.

"Damn," Ruby half whispered. "We are, aren't we." Her voice rose as her fury grew. "They couldn't stand to fight each other, so they decided to let everyone else duke it out instead."

"Michael lied to the Host," said Castiel, eyes wide. "He _lied_. _Nobody_ wants this war."

"Then it's up to us to finish it, isn't it?" asked Bobby pragmatically. He had finally started to lower his gun.

"We start by getting Sam back," said Ruby.

"And Dean," Castiel added firmly. "We must remove both Michael and Lucifer from their vessels if we are to avert anything." He didn't even let himself think about how much rebellion lay in those words. Dean. Dean would approve. He would save Dean once more, and Sam, and stop the fighting and bring peace to the Earth. His Father would want this.

Ruby chuckled suddenly. "So that's it, then. One ex-choirboy, one Hell escapee with a legally dead body, and Mr. Trucker Cap over there. We're awesome."

"Watch yourself," grunted Bobby, raising his gun again. But not very high.

"What is 'it'?" demanded Castiel. "What are 'we'?"

Her frown turned up at the corners. "Team Free Winchesters."


End file.
